Over my years as an advocate for Black children and their families, I took intentional actions to learn the hidden realities of Black history and resurrect cultural practices stripped from us somewhere across the Atlantic. I declared these truths in my life as a parent, community leader and teacher—then surrounded myself with people who reflected all that I sought to reclaim of my identity.
The mistrust and anger I held for community and school leaders emerged in my assertion that “I’m not tryin’ to teach grown white folks anything.” Ironically, I evolved into an instructional coach, a facilitator of professional learning, and a designer of equitable resources for educators, including “grown white folks.” This comes as no surprise since white teachers make up nearly 80% of the U.S. teaching force. Compare this to the enrollment of over 50% of nonwhite students in our public schools and the need for racial and cultural competence becomes clear.
At times I feel an internal conflict about the depth of my involvement with white teachers who are learning how to be allies and even co-conspirators for racial equity. In those moments, I call upon the wisdom of Frederick Douglass to remind me of how and why I must be in the storm to continue working alongside white teachers.
Frederick Douglass escaped the bondage of slavery on September 3, 1838, by disguising himself as a freed Black sailor. He also smuggled his power of literacy. Upon adjusting to his newfound liberation, Douglass took to elevating his voice through lectures and powerful writings about his lived truths.
In my work, I am inspired by Douglass’s use of his trauma to inform those who will never know the impact of slavery and racial oppression. Through his truth-telling, Douglass humanized the oppressed and refuted white America’s contempt for Blackness. My own truth-telling of my lived experiences in and of the American school system as a biracial, bilingual, and bicultural Black and Japanese woman, also humanizes the realities of many students who are denied equitable access to opportunities for relevant and joyful learning.
Douglass’s narrative provides an example of why Black people cannot be silent about how white supremacy culture harms all of us.
Due to a lack of context and representation, our schools unwittingly cause harm in unknowable ways by hiding the full impact of historical figures and events on humanity. Without highlighting the truth and humanizing the impact, white educators are denied the opportunity to interrogate their biases and tap into their own humanity.
Often in my pursuit to eradicate racism in our schools, I endure microaggressions, face hurtful assumptions, and retell difficult accounts of racial oppression. Douglass’s example bolsters my perseverance to carry on. If he was able to mentally and emotionally relive the horrors of slavery for the betterment of humanity, I can channel the hurt, frustration, and anger to transformative work toward antiracist learning experiences for students.
Painful and difficult truths serve as a vehicle for healing and empathy in the quest for antiracism. However, this sentiment also applies to the painful and difficult truths that surface for white people who are, knowingly or not, silent, ignorant, or contributing to the racial harm of others. These feelings reveal more than mere discomfort. It reflects the pain of realization that one’s privilege exists at a devastating cost paid by humans who are equally deserving of the opportunity to be whole.
In a similar spirit to Douglass’s questions from over 100 years ago, I ask what is the true problem in our educational system. The U.S. government integrated schools, will it ensure truth and belonging for students of diverse identities and lived experiences? Will it provide unbiased access to high-quality and culturally relevant instruction? Will it offer equitable pathways to achievement? Will it regard Black children as deserving?
Frederick Douglass left behind a legacy that appeals to our humanity to respond in solidarity a resounding, “WE MUST.”